


Say You Love Me

by sina



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Kent falls hard, M/M, lots of drunk sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9832787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sina/pseuds/sina
Summary: He doesn’t know why, but he feels drawn to the small blond. Like a moth to light, perhaps, if he had any sense that the boy could hurt him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was sort of inspired by (and gets its title from) the song Say You Love Me by Jessie Ware.  
> Jack like, exists in this world and he dated Kent but not Bitty. We don’t talk about him except in passing (blink and you’ll miss it).  
> I fucked up Bitty’s back story a lot and I’m sorry, Bitty. It affects his character a little but he’s still sassy and still loves beyonce so who cares
> 
> Also, there's a lot of drunk sex in this fic and therefore mildly dubious consent. If that bothers you, please don't read!
> 
> FINALLY, many thanks to zoombits on tumblr for the beta read!

The first time they met, the bar was almost empty. It was a Tuesday, the place being this hole in the wall, old gay bar Kent jokingly surmises that he’s single-handedly kept in business since he moved to Vegas. Jokingly. 

Okay, half jokingly. It was a great place to duck out of the spotlight and away from press cameras; he could go there alone and maybe get the occasional glance of recognition, but if he didn’t want to run into too much attention, he knew he could shine a little less brightly there. He would be content there, away from the glitz and the lights, and usually occupied by people with better things to do than fawn over minor celebrities. 

In fact, he had once hit a snag with a couple of bikers after beating them in a few high-stakes rounds of pool, and had to be smuggled by the owner (a middle-aged, ex-pro domme drag queen named Duchess) into the back room and out the back door, clad in one of her wigs, some sloppy makeup, a garish polyester dress somehow far too big for his chest, and white vinyl platform boots too big for his feet. Miraculously, not a single whisper about the night surfaced in a single news outlet, fan blog, or gossip rag, so he did what any reasonable man who just spat in the face of a possible gang beating-death would do: he showed up the next night at the same ramshackle establishment, with three dozen roses and a marriage proposal. When Duchess finally stopped laughing, she suggested she adopt him instead.

It was a 22nd birthday for the record books. 

But, proud as he is of that night, this is a different night, with a very different story.

He isn’t even sure why he’d decides to go out that night. There’s nothing to celebrate, being the off-season; but he feels that anxious itch to leave home, and most of his friends and teammates are out of town, so The Queen it is. He could admit that he’d be down for a lowkey hook up, too, since it’s been a while, but again. It’s a Tuesday in a sticky, dimly-lit bar off the strip in the scorching heat of July - his expectations are low.

He gives it maybe an hour of picking labels off of beer bottles and listening to bad, campy ‘80s pop before deciding his time might just be better spent at home. There’s barely anyone around, and the haze of stale smoke in the air is getting to him a little bit worse than usual. He could pick up takeout on the way back, snuggle in with Kit and sift through Netflix for something at least bearable to watch. It wouldn’t be the most exciting way to pass the time, but nothing was happening here, either.

It’s on his way to cash out that he notices someone unfamiliar leaning at the far edge of the bar. It’s not uncommon or even unusual for tourists to wander in, but there is something distinctly different about the guy - Kent had to actively stop himself from thinking of him as a kid, which he couldn’t be, could he, if he was standing there nursing something fruity-looking in a martini glass? - who couldn’t look less comfortable under the glow of the blacklight bulbs if he tried. 

He caught himself staring and forced his eyes forward when the boy suddenly looked down at a newly lit phone screen.

“Hey, Duchess,” he said, greeting the tired-looking queen languishing behind the bar. “You serving minors now?” She looked confused for a second, until Kent clarifies by glancing down the bar at the boy, whose eyes keep shifting back and forth between his phone and the door.

“Would you believe it,” she leans forward, forearms planted along the edge of the counter, “his ID says he turned 21 something like three months ago.” She looks about ready to gossip, but purses her lips - her signal for “I couldn’t tell you anything else if you asked.”

“Yeah, I guess I can believe it.” He glances back at the kid - the man, damn it - and looks him up and down: he’s small but fit, clad in lean muscle that’s barely covered by his loose turquoise tank and tiny black shorts. But he’s also wearing sneakers, checking his hair with his selfie camera, gritting his teeth, and blinking too much, eyes dark and big as dinner plates. 

“Are you going to go talk to him?” Duchess snaps his attention back on her. “It’s rude to stare.”

“Maybe,” Kent shrugs, though he’s already made his mind up, and yes, he’s going to. He doesn’t know why, but he feels drawn to the small blond. Like a moth to light, perhaps, if he had any sense that the boy could hurt him.

Little did he know.

“Go easy on him,” she says. “He was so polite! I’d hate to see you destroy such a nice kid. Again.”

“Mother. You make me sound so vicious,” he replies, clapping a hand to his chest. “I am simply appalled. Broken-hearted.”

“You’re full of shit, darling.” She gazes up through fluttering false eyelashes towards him. “And you know I wouldn’t like you so much if you weren’t at least a little bit vicious.” 

“Please. You like me because you always bet on the Aces, and I always win for you.” He smirks his characteristic smirk, and she returns it with a raucous laugh.

“Well, that’s true. But the minute you start sucking at hockey, you’re out of my will.” She straightens to tend to another regular waiting at the till, pulling his credit card out from a shelf under the counter.

“And don’t call him a kid. He’s only, what, three years younger than me? Four? I’m not hitting on a child.”

“You’re still a child too,” she replies coolly after handing the man a receipt to sign. “Now shoo, baby, go get him. If you wait too long, someone else will.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Oh, wait -- do you want another beer?”

“No, but I’ll try whatever that pink martini thing is.”

***

“You look a little tense.”

At this point, the guy’s shoulders are almost up to his ears, and he doesn’t move his eyes from the cell phone when Kent slides onto the bar stool next to him.

“I think I’m… being stood up? Or maybe I’m the one doing the standing-up. It’s a little confusing.” He finally tears his eyes away from his phone. “This is The Queen, right?”

“The Queen of Hearts, yeah,” Kent replies, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Well, like,” he begins, already sounding frazzled through some kind of southern accent, “I’m supposed to meet this guy here, and he’s clearly not here, but he says he is? And he’s like… yelling at me over Grindr because he thinks I’m trying to pull something on him?” 

“Hang on, lemme see,” Kent says, and he gently surrenders the phone so Kent can scroll through the conversation. After a minute, he reaches the part where this guy and the guy he was supposed to meet made plans. He’s not sure why he’s doing this. Wasn’t the point to chat Short-Shorts up himself? 

“Oh, see, there’s your problem!” He sets the phone down and points at the screen. “This guy’s talking about The Queen of Clubs.”

“Wait, what?” He picks the phone back up. “What’s The Queen of Clubs?”

“It’s this, like, gross old club across town that totally knocked off Duchess’s name. This one opened in the ‘80s, the other opened a few years ago.”

“What about me and my name?” They both look up to see Duchess arriving with another pink martini.

“Some guy’s trying to get him to go to The other Queen.” 

“The other Queen?”

“You know, Queen of Clubs.”

“Good heavens, ‘the other Queen?’ There is no ‘other Queen.’ You know those words are banned in here.”

“I know, but we gotta make an exception this one time,” Kent insists. “Listen, uh - I’m sorry, what’s your name?” 

“Oh, right, I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Call me Bitty,” he says, offering his hand. “And I didn’t catch your name…?” He looks up at Duchess with a small smile.

“Duchess,” and she shakes his hand earnestly. “What accent is that? South Carolina?”

“Georgia,” he replies, smiling wider this time. “You were close!”

“I’m from Memphis,” she replies. “Originally. Thousands of years ago.” 

“Duchess, stop flirting, he already has a date.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” She flips a lock of hair over her shoulder, before leaning forward - almost as if she has a secret to tell. “Bitty, do yourself a favor and stay far away from that sorry excuse of a former bowling alley.”

“Yeah, Bitty. It’s not even a former bowling alley, really, they just built a new wall where the old place burned down.”

“It still smells like stale nachos.”

“One time? I went there? And a guy didn’t even bother changing out of his Burger King uniform first.”

“I heard the owner was arrested once for kiddie porn.”

“All they ever play is Selena.”

“You brat, Selena is a goddess - ”

“I mean Gomez.”

“Oh, I hope it burns down all over again!”

“Okay, okay!” Bitty interrupts, his voice bubbling with laughter. “I’m convinced, you’ve convinced me! I won’t go.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Kent says, raising the glass to his lips. 

His face immediately contorts and he puckers his lips - probably looking extremely attractive. He coughs, swallowing the offending liquor down, almost ending up with a nose full of alcohol.

“What the fuck is this?!” He puts the glass down awkwardly so a big wave of pink fluid sloshes out onto the bar.

“It’s what you ordered, dumbass,” Duchess snaps, already grabbing a towel to mop up the spill.

“I ordered what he has! I thought it was a fucking… sidecar or something!”

“It’s a pink squirrel,” Bitty interjects.

“A squirrel what now?” 

“I like it,” he replies, apparently oblivious to Kent’s plight. “It’s like... vodka ice cream.”

“It’s horrific.”

“Fine, give it to me. I’ll drink it.”

Kent pushes the glass in Bitty’s direction, and he’s so dramatic about it Bitty’s amazed his nose isn’t stuck up in the air.

“You are a brat,” he mutters. Duchess barks out a short laugh and pokes a glittering acrylic nail in Bitty’s direction.

“I like this one. I changed my mind; if you touch him, Kent, I will murder you.”

“Shut up and get me something that isn’t poisonous, you bitter old hag,” Kent yells at her back as she turns to leave.

“Go eat a chode,” she tosses over her shoulder, but she does yank a bright blue bottle down from the glass shelves above the bar.

“I love you, Mom.”

“Shut up, baby, I know it.”

When he turns back to Bitty, Bitty’s staring.

“Duchess is your… mother,” he states, as if trying to process it.

“Oh, no,” Kent shrugs. “It’s our thing. Like, a drag thing?”

“So you’re… a drag queen?” Bitty’s eyebrows rise and his eyes somehow look even bigger.

“Technically, no,” Kent replies, shrugging again.

“What does ‘technically not a drag queen’ mean?”

“You sure are inquisitive, huh, Georgia?”

“Hey. Save your chirps for the ice, Parson,” Bitty drawls, knocking the rest of his first drink back.

Kent pauses for a moment.

“I didn’t tell you my name.”

“Didn’t have to,” Bitty replies, and it’s his turn to shrug it off. 

“So I guess there’s no point in giving you a fake name,” Kent muses.

“Nope,” Bitty responds, popping the ‘p.’

“Do I get to know your real name, then?”

“Maybe... It depends,” Bitty says, leaning to balance his chin on his hand, elbow resting on the bar.

“Depends on what?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Bitty shrugs, moving to swirl his drink around in its glass.

“That’s hardly fair,” Kent ribs into him with a grin, but Bitty pretends not to hear it.

“You’re wearing your hat backwards. Or forwards? Backwards for you, I mean.”

He means that Kent’s snapback is actually sitting on his head properly, Aces logo on his forehead. “Oh. Yeah. I, uh, the snapback thing kind of turned into a trademark, so I wear it differently when I’m … you know, uh --”

“Hiding?” Bitty offers.

“I was going for ‘trying to be discreet,’” Kent corrects him.

“Uh huh,” Bitty mutters - but he’s smiling, Kent notes, so he’s not actually annoyed. Hopefully. 

“Sure.” A pause. “You’re pretty terrible at being discreet.”

“Well, it can go one of two ways. Either you know hockey, and you know me, or you don’t know hockey, and I’m just your average beautiful blond dying to stay moisturized in this infernal heat.” He waves a hand around, just in case Bitty had any doubts that he is extremely dramatic.

“Oh, please. Spend a weekend in Savannah in August, and then get back to me about infernal.”

Kent chuckles. “So what brings you to Vegas, then, if you’re supposed to be in Savannah this time of year?”

Bitty goes quiet for a moment, taking a sip of of his pink monster of a drink. “Well, I was on my way to see a friend in California, and I ran out of gas around here,” he said. “Long story short. I’m stuck here working a few odd jobs until I can get back on the road.”

“Huh. You got a place to stay?”

“Other than my car, not right now.”

“Well, you’re welcome in my guest room if you need it.”

“I think I’ll manage, thanks.”

Kent shrugs, but says nothing else.

Thankful for the pause, Bitty goes back to messing with his phone. Kent takes the moment as a chance to really look at him: up close, it’s a lot more obvious that Bitty isn’t a kid. Like, he’s young, sure, but there’s something about his face that betrays the initial impression of boyishness about him. There’s a small, omnipresent crease between his eyebrows; his hubcap sized eyes are narrowed slightly with tension; the circles under his lower eyelashes are dark and soft against his pale cheeks. 

“What am I supposed to say to this guy?” The sudden question drags Kent out of his musings. 

“What do you mean?” Kent asks, blinking back as he reconnects with those wide, warm chocolate eyes.

“Well, I’ve gotta give him some reason why I thought I was there and then completely didn’t show up,” Bitty grumbles. He sounds like he’d rather just not deal with the whole thing, which piques Kent’s interest - clearly, he wasn’t too enthusiastic about the other guy in the first place. And he doesn’t want to assume that means Bitty’s choosing him, rather than just avoiding a bad call, but - no, that’s a lie. He does want to assume that. Because up close, he can see that Bitty isn’t shy or awkward - just affronted by this clown screaming at him over text. He’s not childish or boyish, either; in fact, he almost looks like he could be another Kent, just sized down a few inches in each dimension. Kent tries not to extrapolate into what his attraction to the smaller man means about his ego.

He clears his throat. “You could always just say you changed your mind.”

Bitty replies, “Nah, he already knows I’m supposed to be looking for him.”

“Hmm. Well, he’s acting like a little bitch; just say you’re turned off and went home.”

“He knows I’m not from around here.”

“Here, just hand me the phone.” Kent swipes the device without waiting for permission, which makes Bitty protest with a noise Kent has to tell himself is not super cute. (So, yeah, he’s basically stealing this guy’s date, but he still doesn’t want to assume Bitty’s into him in… that way. The way that would mean Kent would hear a lot more cute noises coming out of him. But he winds up mentally slapping himself, because the point was to NOT think about him that way.)

After clicking out a brief message, he hands the phone back to Bitty. Bitty’s eyes grow wide at the “FUCK OFF, FOUND SOMEONE BETTER” now glaring off of his screen. “Oh my god! Why would you do that?!” Bitty wails.

“It’s true,” Kent shrugs. “C’mon, I know this great place for late dinner.”

***

It took some convincing, but Bitty does eventually leave with Kent. It’s further clarification for Kent that he should keep his hands off, but he does still plan to show Bitty some of the nicer nooks and crannies off the beaten path in his town.

After walking a short distance, Kent reassuring Bitty he’s going to be fine and the Grindr guy will definitely actually fuck off all the way, they come to their destination: a trailer in a dusty lot with an awning of twinkle lights and picnic tables set up outside. Festive, Bitty would say, if he weren’t already preoccupied being irritated and worried about the nasty guy he just turned down on Grindr.

“Trust me, these are the best tacos you’re ever going to eat,” Kent says, draping his arm genially around his companion.

“What makes you think I like tacos, Kent Parson?”

“Okay, you’ve got to stop calling me that, first. Second, who doesn’t like tacos? Vegetarians, I guess, but you’re not a vegetarian.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re from Georgia.”

“Well, you’re right, but we’re not all the same in the south.”

“Please,” Kent says, rolling his eyes with a smile. He says nothing else, but brings Bitty up to the window where there’s a menu hanging on the open panel.

“Two of my regular, Nacho,” he asks. 

“How ‘bout a ‘please,’ Parser?” The big guy in the trailer responds, but he laughs and starts gathering a few baskets of chips to put the food in. 

“How’s it going?” Kent asks conversationally.

“Much worse, now you’re here,” Nacho snaps. He then turns to Bitty. “You, Kid.”

Bitty looks surprised. “I’m not a kid.”

“You’re both kids,” he corrects himself. “You like spicy?”

“Yeah, spicy’s fine.”

“Cause this other kid,” Nacho says, motioning to Kent, “gets ‘em with the really spicy sauce, and ain’t letting him set you on fire if you don’t want that.”

“Thanks,” Bitty says, “but I’ll be okay.” He smiles, and Kent just allows himself a moment to bask in its glow.

Kent’s found something amazing in Bitty, he already knows it. But he also knows himself well, and knows if he hasn’t already fucked up (Bitty’s got an attitude on him), he will soon enough.

But he also hasn’t perfected projecting confidence for nothing.

Nacho hands him their food and tells them to stay out of trouble (“I’m never in trouble!” Kent pouts, jokingly, and Nacho smacks him on the hand), before they make their way to the table farthest from the window.

“Okay,” Kent says. “So basically, you can eat these with your hands if you want to, but you don’t want to.”

“How do you know what I want to do, Kent Parson?”

“Enough with the full name! And because you should trust me,” he repeats, grabbing a plastic fork and knife and cutting into his own meat-laden, salsa-covered treat.

“How’s Parson?”

“I’d prefer Kent, if that’s okay,” he spits through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah, I’m going with Parson.”

“Suit yourself.” He swallows and shrugs. “Try the food, though. I swear, it’s fantastic.”

“Well, if you swear,” Bitty says, picking up his own fork and diving into the spicy concoction.

After taking a bite, his entire face shifts to something like wonder.

“You weren’t kidding.”

“Why would I kid about tacos? C’mon, Bitty,” Parse says, knocking his wrist against Bitty’s shoulder. “I’m trying to show you the good parts of Vegas, here.”

“Well, thank you,” Bitty says, and it’s genuine; he can appreciate good food, even if it did come from a trailer, and he can appreciate the kindness, even if it did come from one of the most stuck up and wild NHL players out there.

Rumored-to-be, anyway.

“So you’re one of the good parts of Vegas, I take it?” Bitty says, unable to keep a slight edge of flirtation out of his voice. He definitely needs someplace to stay now, after all.

“I’m okay,” Parse responds, twirling his fork around in the air.

“You’re ‘just okay?’” Bitty replies, almost accusatory. He has a hard time reconciling the person who he thought Kent was with who he really appears to be: a random bar dweller who loves tacos from a truck and prefers not to get sloshed on beer is all he has so far, but it’s so incongruous to his preconceptions that he’s starting to wonder if he should do away with them altogether.

“I play good hockey, I have a cat, I know where to get good food and I go to the Queen a lot,” Kent lists off, counting on his fingers. “Otherwise I guess I’m pretty average.”

“So what’s an ‘average’ night for you?”

“You really wanna see the rest of it?”

“I’ve got no other plans.”

“Okay,” Kent agrees. “Finish eating and I’ll show you.”

***

 

Kent’s place is, of course, nothing short of impressive. Floor-to-ceiling windows show off the glittering lights of the city below, but he draws the shades after the initial viewing to quieten the place down. Once the lights dim, a huge fluffy cat peers around the corner of the kitchen island, and Kent goes over to fetch her.

Bitty tries not to be impressed by Kent’s extravagant kitchen. He bets he doesn’t even use it. What a waste.

“So this is it,” Kent says, cuddling the massive cat close. “Takeout Mexican, big cat, Netflix, if you’re interested.

“Gotta admit,” Bitty says, turning to examine the space. It’s surprisingly small, though the location and view is about as prime as he can imagine. “I’m pretty surprised.”

“How so?”

“I thought you’d be sloppy drunk and entertaining about fifteen puck bunnies right now.”

“Nah, it’s only Tuesday. That’s what I do on Sundays,” Parse jokes. 

“Hah,” Bitty responds dully, and then a silence falls over the room.

“So,” Kent finally says, putting his squirming cat back onto the floor, after which she darts off to parts unknown.

“So?”

“So Netflix?”

“Is that really all you want to do with me here?”

“I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”

“Assumptions about what?”

“You’re really gonna make me say it?”

It’s Bitty who smirks this time. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Well, I’d love to fuck you straight into the other side of my mattress, but that’s all up to you, really.”

“Hmm,” Bitty responds. “Yeah, I can probably get down with that. What kind of music have you got?”

“Anything you want,” Kent says, admittedly out of breath at the idea that Bitty actually wants him.

“Throw on some Beyonce?” Bitty suggests.

So Kent does. He skips straight to his favorite - Flawless - and Bitty saunters over to him with just a slight sway of his hips, just the way he knows will make Kent even thirstier.

“So, Kent,” Bitty says, getting straight to the point. “Where first?”

“Well, kissing sounds like a good first move.”

“I meant couch, or bed, or whatever,” Bitty chuckles.

“Uh,” Kent responds, face and body inches away from Bitty’s. At this point, all his bravado disappears. “Wherever you want.”

“Bed, then,” Bitty replies, taking Kent’s hand in his. “Lead the way.”

Kent pulls him down a short hall and closes the door behind him, Bitty presumes to keep the cat on the other side. He can still hear the music, so he doesn’t mind. He’s then turned and pushed into the door as Kent leans to kiss him fiercely, as if it’s all he’s been thinking about all evening.

Really, it’s not far from the truth.

Bitty feels the bottom of his stomach drop unexpectedly. He’s been in this position before - never with anyone Kent's level of famous, of course - but he’s never felt this rush quite so deeply. He kisses back fast and hard, which riles Kent up so he starts to pant, his mouth still against Bitty’s. Bitty feels the thick heat of of Kent’s breath on his face, and thankfully feels him separate in time for Bitty to take a deep breath of his own.

“Wow,” Bitty gasps. 

“Not ‘just okay?’” Kent teases, brushing his fingers across Bitty’s temple and into his hair.

“Maybe a little good,” Bitty chirps back, leaning forward to capture Kent’s lips again. They move together, tongues and lips, and Bitty starts to allow his hands to graze over Kent’s chest and sides.

“C’mere,” Kent says, leaning away from the door and moving his hands to Bitty’s hips. He turns Bitty around and pushes him softly down onto the bed and climbs on to his knees, so he looms over the smaller boy as he leans in to kiss him more. He moves from his lips to his neck, then pauses to look at Bitty for affirmation. Bitty nods once, resolutely, so Kent resumes kissing and nipping at his collarbones.

“Is it okay if I mark you up?” He asks between bites. Bitty nods again, breathing hard, before responding with a breathless “Yes, please, go ahead.”

Kent sucks a hickey into Bitty’s collarbone before sitting up, motioning for Bitty to follow. Bitty sits up too, and shucks the teal tank top from his body, tossing it away to be found later. Kent revels in the sight of his pale torso, a contrast to the sun kissed shoulders and arms only visible before. He then pushes Bitty back down and resumes kissing downwards, pausing to lick and bite at a nipple before nuzzling against Bitty’s (surprisingly prominent) ribs.

“I wanna blow you,” he says bravely, and Bitty nods for a third time before Kent maneuvers himself back down onto the floor. “Scoot,” he commands, and Bitty slides closer to the edge of the bed, where Kent takes the opportunity to remove his shorts. He’s pleasantly surprised to see Bitty was wearing nothing underneath, and that Bitty’s thickness is already growing between his legs. He gives Bitty’s length a few healthy strokes to get him to full hardness, before leaning forward and kissing the head in front of him. Bitty sighs pleasantly at that, so Kent opens his mouth and gently takes Bitty in between his lips. 

It occurs to Kent throughout the process that Bitty is a stranger. But they haven’t been acting like it, have they? He hasn’t, anyway - and maybe he’s letting his guard down a little bit, but it feels right. This feels right; Bitty feels right. He doesn’t even know the man’s real name, and here he is with his cock in his mouth. It’s not unusual for Kent to fuck strangers, so why does it feel so strange now - like he knows Bitty better than he’s supposed to, or that he should get to know Bitty better than just this?

For all his pondering, he seems to still be doing something right. He sucks Bitty down as far as he can, cock hitting and then sliding into his throat. Bitty moans and bucks suddenly, grabbing Kent’s hair at the crown of his head. “S-sorry,” he stutters. “I didn’t mean t-to --”

Kent pulls off with a pop and says hoarsely, “It’s okay, you can do that. You can keep - keep doing it.” He returns to his work and swallows Bitty down again, though not all the way this time.

Bitty bucks into his mouth again, this time light and controlled, though there’s a stutter to his hips that means he can barely contain it. Kent’s mouth is so hot and slick around him, he thinks he might accidentally come without warning. Parse swallows him down again, bobbing up and down, and Bitty’s pants and groans echo around his room.

Kent pulls off again and asks, “Do you think you’re close?”

“God, Kent,” Bitty sputters. “I was, yeah.” 

“I can keep going,” Kent says, continuing to pump Bitty’s cock with his hand, “or I can fuck you properly like I mentioned before.”

“Either way,” Bitty gasps, “Honestly. I want either. I want both.”

“I don’t want to tire you out,” Kent says.

“Then grab some lube,” Bitty insists. He sucks down a few deep breaths when Kent leaves to turn to the bathroom. 

When he comes back, Bitty rises to his feet to kiss him again. It’s slower, this time: more passionate, heavier and hotter than Kent would have imagined out of the tiny, southern boy he somehow managed to get back to his place. “God, I want you, Bits,” he groans as their lips part.

“Bits,” Bitty echoes. “I like it.”

“Good,” Kent says, and Bitty steps closer again to rip his shirt off. This time, it’s Bitty kissing down Kent’s torso, wherever his mouth can reach, and he raises his hands to rub his thumbs into Kent’s nipples.

“Mmm,” he groans. “Yes, that’s -- that’s so good, Bits. That’s amazing.”

They step in sync back to the bed, where Bitty scoots up to the pillows and turns over to spread his legs. “Get over here,” he commands, and Kent flops down onto the bed to follow.

“I want you so bad,” Kent says again. “But let me know if I’m going too fast, okay?”

“I’m not a virgin,” Bitty chides. “You won’t break me.”

“I know,” Kent replies, though he actually wasn’t sure. “I just want to be sure you’re okay with… this.”

“I’m okay. I’m so okay.”

“Good,” Kent says, and he finishes lubing up his fingers before leaning forward to circle the skin between Bitty’s cheeks.

Bitty sighs and pushes his ass forward, asking for more. Kent is more than happy to oblige, adding a second finger and probing inside to find Bitty’s prostate.

Bitty’s moans, gentle and high, fill the room again, and Kent mouths down his thigh as he continues to press deeper. As Kent bites down, hard, on Bitty’s leg, he lets out a wail of pleasure, and falls looser, more pliant beneath Kent. He spreads his legs even wider, and begs, “More, Kent, please, I’m ready,” just as Kent pulls out to add more lube. He cries out at the loss, but cries even louder when Kent returns with a third finger.

“Oh, God,” Bitty moans, digging his face into the pillows. “Please, can you -- I want you to -- please, Kent,” he says, never getting a full thought out.

“Okay, okay,” Kent breathes, equally desperate for it now that Bitty’s actually using his name. He rips a condom off of the strip and hastily rolls it onto his own erection, grappling for the bottle of lube lost in the sheets. When he finally finds it, he pops the cap and squeezes out more than is necessary, but still. He doesn’t want to hurt Bitty, tiny as he is.

He lines himself up with Bitty’s entrance and Bitty looks back at him, wanting, expectant. 

“C’mon,” Bitty urges him. “I told you; I won’t break.”

“I know, I know, Kent laughs, and he pushes forward, as slowly as he can, into Bitty’s expectant body. 

They gasp in unison at the new pressure they both feel; Kent slides in, still slow, though he already wants to go so much faster and harder. His arousal boils in his stomach, making his heart dizzy and his head fuzzy as he presses in further and further.

When he’s fully sheathed inside Bitty, Bitty’s breath comes out faster and heavier, and Kent knows he’s going to have to move soon or they’ll both burst. He starts with shallow thrusts, as even and smooth as possible, but Bitty’s already moving to meet him and grinding onto him even deeper still. 

The noises Bitty tries to muffle in the pillow are so sweet, so tender that Parse reaches forward to stroke his hair encouragingly. “Please don’t,” he coos. “I want to hear you, you sound so good.” Bitty nods and shifts his face to the side. 

“Hnn -- Kent, you feel so -- you feel so -- please -- can you go faster?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunts, and he speeds up his thrusts accordingly. But Bitty can tell he’s still holding back, so he grounds himself with his knees and pushes back.

“Kent, I mean it. I want -- Ahh!” He yelps as Kent takes his cock in hand and squeezes it lightly. “Kent, Kent I want you to fuck me, fuck me, please, go harder--”

“Fuck, Bits, you’re so - God, you’re so sexy, you know that?” Kent asks before accommodating. “I want this to last but you’re making it so hard for me, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Enough talking,” Bitty chirps back. “I want you to fuck me, and I want you to do it now.”

A shrill gasp, nearly a scream, rips its way through Bitty’s throat on each thrust. He feels so full, so well timed to Kent’s thrusts, and the heat that pools at the base of his spine threatens to bubble over at any moment.

“Kent, I’m -- ahhh -- I’m gonna -- I’m gonna c-come --” he barely gets the words out before he bursts with a yell, come coating Kent’s fingers around his cock. Kent continues thrusting, hard, grunting and gasping himself, until he, too, topples over a short moment later.

Kent collapses onto Bitty and rolls them on the side, still planted deep inside Bitty as they pant, wound together like tangled wire, breath hot and coming in short bursts.

Kent shivers, still shaking slightly from the exertion, before pulling out. Surprisingly fastidious, Bitty thinks, Kent removes himself from the bed and goes straight to the bathroom, emerging a moment later without the condom and with a warm, wet wash cloth. He cleans Bitty off, kissing his shoulder, then kissing his mouth as he discards the wash cloth onto the floor.

Bitty’s eyelids flutter with exhaustion. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what? That was… God, that was amazing, Bits,” Kent replies, aghast.

“No, no, I know, that was the best sex I’ve...” he trails off into silence. He clears his throat before trying again. “I’m sorry I’m so tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Sleep,” Kent says, kissing his forehead. “You’re staying here, okay?”

“Okay,” Bitty says, deciding against protesting.

Kent hits the lights and returns to the bed, tangling his bare legs with his guest’s and nuzzling his nose right up to the back of Bitty’s neck.

The steady rise and fall of Bitty’s shoulders tell him he’s already asleep, so Kent closes his eyes and follows not long after.

 

 

In the morning, Kent blearily opens his eyes to the blaring, unwelcome sunshine and an empty bed.

He ventures to the door and opens it to see Kit waiting for him in the kitchen, but no one else around.

Confused, he simply turns around and heads back to bed.

There, he sees his wallet on his bedside table - definitely not where he left it -- and opens it to find all his cash gone, a yellow post-it note sticking out in its place.

“K--,” it reads.  
“You didn’t have enough cash for my normal rate, but you can pay me back another time. Thanks for the fun and great tacos.  
\--B”

Too tired to deal with this right now, Kent buries himself underneath his quilt and turns away from where Bitty had slept just hours before.

He lies there for hours. He doesn’t sleep.

***

The second time they meet, it’s a few days later. Kent hadn’t expected ever to see him again, though Bitty occupied his mind for days on end. He was this mystery to Kent, one he wanted so badly to solve, and yet he slipped away from him, like water out of the mud in a sieve. 

He’s walking home from the gym, a route that unfortunately passes by “the Other Queen,” when he spots a demure figure in front of the bar’s entrance, cigarette dangling from his dainty fingers, cell phone in his other hand. He’s talking to some bulky, swarthy guy Kent doesn’t recognize.

And he doesn’t know what comes over him, but he moves to cross the street without another thought.

And when he decides to do something, he really doesn’t stop until it’s done.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Kent greets the pair as he steps up onto the curb.

Bitty turns slowly, and calmly scans Kent up and down as if he hasn’t seen Kent before in his life. “Hi,” He finally says. “Been a while. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Kent replies coolly. “And you?”

“I’m okay. Oh, this is…?”

The man standing next to Bitty enters the conversation. “Tim,” he says, offering Kent a hand and shaking it genially. “Wow, Bitty, you didn’t tell me you know Kent Parson!”

“I don’t, really,” Bitty says with a nice smile. “We met a week or so ago.”

“A week or so, yeah,” Kent repeats, tallying the four days of wondering and worrying after Bitty in his head.

“Good work last season, Parser,” Tim says, smile a mile wide. “I coulda murdered someone during playoff season, you know?”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Kent replies. “We did our best. Got next season to look forward to, anyway.”

“Yeah! Hey, can I get a selfie with you?”

Kent complies quickly and quietly, flicking a pair of aviators over his eyes and throwing up a peace sign for the selfie.

“Well, I’ll let you guys to it,” he says, hiking his gym bag higher on a shoulder. “Oh, and hey, Bits. I owe you lunch or something, don’t I?”

“It’s fine, you’re set,” Bitty says, his skin taking on a slight lemonade pink tint at the statement.

“No, no, I want to make sure we’re even,” Kent says evenly, despite all the vitriol that’s begging to go loose. “Meet me at the real Queen tonight, how’s that?”

Bitty’s mouth shrinks into a thin line and all the color drains from his face. 

“Good meeting, you, Tim,” Kent says, and offers another handshake. Tim shakes it enthusiastically, and returns the sentiment a little too enthusiastically. Kent realizes he’s just outed himself by asking another man to meet him at a gay bar, but doesn’t really care. It’s something people just kind of now by now, isn’t it?

He shrugs as he walks away in the glaring heat of the sun.

***

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he soliloquizes later over a margarita.

“Sweetheart, I told you you’re not careful enough,” Duchess chastises him lightly.

“I’m not...” Kent says. “Everything’s fine.”

“So you are worried about the little one, then,” she surmises.

He looks pointedly away.

“Tell you what. I’ll see what I can do to get him in here, and you two can have a real talk. How’s that sound?”

“God, Duchess, I don’t even know if he’s still in Vegas after that awkward… Whatever it was,” Kent says, rolling his eyes. “I should just forget about it. I will, it’s not big deal.” He flashes a put out smile he knows she will recognize as fake.

“You don’t ‘just forget,’ Kent, honey,” she reminds him. “I know you too well. Don’t try to pull your dazzling shit with me.”

“You know what? I think I’m gonna go drink at home.”

“I’ll call if he shows up,” she replies, knowing better than to try to talk him down from it.

He closes his tab and wanders back out on the street. He doesn’t actually want to go home, but doesn’t know what else he can do with himself tonight. He’s really not into the gambling and prostitution (oh, God) scene, so he supposes the best he can do is head home.

The last thing in the world he expects is waiting for him when he gets there.

Bitty, battered and bruised, perches, slumped, on his doorstep, next to a black hockey bag and nothing else.

“Bitty,” Kent breathes.

His head perks up at Kent’s voice.

“Hi,” he says quietly. “Is the offer for your guest room still open?”

***

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Kent states plainly, daubing at Bitty’s face with another piece of cotton soaked in iodine.

“Ugh,” Bitty responds, wincing away from the yellow-brown concoction. He puts on a pout, and Kent looks away. “You were fine, I just -- I didn’t know if you wanted to talk to that guy or not, if he’d recognize you or not, or whatever.”

“It’s fine if you didn’t want to see me again.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he sighs. “I tend not to make a habit of it. I guess no one informed the guy you were just so kind to on my Grindr account a few nights ago.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea you’d actually run into him offline. You… I want you to know that you can trust me, you know.”

“Do I, Parse? Do I know that?” Bitty asks, though it’s without spite.

“I guess not,” Kent replies, thinking. “But I wish you would consider it.”

“Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be careful around you. In fact, I should be more careful.”

“Hey, a lot’s at stake for me, too, here,” he says. “Can you imagine the headlines if I were caught with a- a--”

“You can say it,” Bitty sighs. “I know what I am.”

“I don’t want to be derogatory.”

“Sex-worker is the generally accepted term, then,” Bitty offers.

“I didn’t know you were a sex worker.”

Bitty chokes on a laugh as Kent goes to work cleaning a scratch on his shoulder.

“Ow!” He shrieks. “Warn a guy, would you?”

“I could say the same to you,” Kent murmurs, though he diligently cleans the wound rather than pausing. Bitty bites his lip against the sting. Kent looks away again, trying not to think about how cute Bitty looks when he pouts.

“But yeah, guest room’s open if you want. And you know, I can lend you some cash. You can pay me back later if you feel like you have to.”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity if I’m keeping you from getting beat up like this.”

“Oh, please, I used to play hockey. I can take a hit.”

“This isn’t just one hit.”

“That’s what you got out of that sentence?”

“I’ll ask you about the hockey later. For now I want to make sure you’re safe, got it?”

“I’m fine. Don’t baby me, Kent Parson.”

Kent’s grown to recognize that the full name means something. He still doesn’t like it, but doesn’t protest this time. Instead, he turns to his first aid kit and pulls out the bandages, gauze and tape.

“Here. You can finish up. I have whiskey and vodka in the freezer, if either interest you.”

“God, yes,” Bitty replies. “And some ice, too, if you would.”

It occurs to him that he shouldn’t, but Kent decides to trust Bitty enough at least to leave him alone in the bathroom to go grab some drinks.

***

 

“What’s this?” Bitty asks when he wanders into the living room. Kent’s already got Netflix queued up and ready to go.

“Arrested Development,” Kent answers. “You seen it?”

“I was ten in 2006,” Bitty replies as he scans the description. “Also, my family’s pretty conservative, so, no.”

“Yikes, don’t tell me stuff like that,” Kent says, fake reeling. “Making me feel old.”

“There are plenty worse ways you could feel, drinking at home on a Saturday with a prostitute.”

“Speaking of which,” Kent replies. “How much do you need to get out to California?”

“I just need the room for a few days,” Bitty replies with a huff. “That’s more than enough.”

“So you don’t want to share a bed again?”

“This is hardly what I usually do with clients,” Bitty replies.

“So I can be a special one,” Kent says. “I’ll pay you extra. So much extra you can get out to Cali. Hell, I’ll even tip you so you don’t have to turn tricks when you get there.”

“I’m fine with what I do, thanks,” Bitty sasses. “Are we going to watch this or what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kent says, nodding for Bitty to sit next to him. He doesn’t want to overstep, so he decides to just shut up for now. He’ll get him later.

“There’s an excellent drinking game, too,” he adds.

“Fine by me,” Bitty replies lightly. “After the day I’ve had I’m ready to drink you under the table.”

“As if you could,” Parse chirps back. Bitty sinks onto the couch next to him, already grabbing whatever drink Kent mixed for him and taking a gulp.

“This one is going to wreck you, though,” Kent warns, and Bitty laughs softly next to him.

 

 

“Drink!” Kent commands, for about the 25th time, the fifth time the narrator mentions the banana stand. Bitty’s surprisingly good at holding his alcohol, but this time, he shakes his head.

“I will absolutely die if I take another shot,” Bitty says. “God, Kent, how much do you drink that you’re not passed out by now?”

“You probably don’t want to know,” Kent slurs after slurping down the remnants of his last drink. “So if we’re done drinking, are we done watching?”

“It’s your call,” Bitty says. “I’m pretty lost, to be honest. I’m pretty drunk, too.”

“Well, I’ve seen the series about six times, and it’s no fun if you can’t follow along,” Kent declares, reaching for the remote to pause it. “Bed?”

“Depends on how serious you were about wanting to hook up again.”

“Pretty serious,” Kent says. “But only if you’re up for it.”

“I could be convinced.”

“I promise I’ll pay in full this time.”

“No. The room is your payment.”

“Not if you’re not going to use it,” Kent chirps again.

“Are you going to keep arguing semantics, or are you going to kiss me already?” Bitty gripes.

So Kent kisses him.

 

***

The next morning, Kent wakes up alone again.

However, it’s to the pleasant sound of water running in the shower the next room over.

Bitty stayed.

Kent tries not to be too delighted about it.

Bitty exits the shower and goes to rummage through the bag he left at the foot of Kent’s bed. His skin glows a warm peach in the morning sunlight.

“Morning, beautiful,” Kent says, sitting up to get a better look at him.

“Ugh, no,” Bitty groans. “No lines. I thought you weren’t going to act like a regular client.”

“I thought regular clients didn’t get to see you in the morning.”

“Some do. I just wanted to get out of your hair early before.”

“Baby, you’re welcome to stay in my hair as long as you want.”

“Okay, that was officially the worst one I’ve ever heard.”

“‘Forget love, I want to die in your yellow hair,’” Kent quotes at him.

“Okay, how the hell do you know Brautigan?”

“How do you?”

“Just a friend,” Bitty replies sheepishly.

“Same here,” Kent agrees.

“At least I have friends in college,” Bitty chirps. “Smart ones.”

Kent barks out a laugh and slides out of bed, striding over to his dresser to grab a pair of boxers. “Never said I didn’t. I’m full of poetry. Anytime you want.”

“Do not want,” Bitty groans again.

“Want breakfast, though?” Kent asks, shuffling a hand through his hair. “I make a mean omelet.”

“I bet I make a meaner one.”

“You’re on.”

It turns out that Bitty’s is actually much better, though Kent isn’t surprised. He doesn’t actually cook all that well, despite the attempts to legitimize having a decked out kitchen.

“Jesus Christ,” He says, leaning back into his chair with a full stomach. “You should be cooking for a living, you know?”

“That’s the plan,” Bitty replies, putting his fork down. “Well, eventually, anyway.”

“So tell me something,” Kent begins. “Is this thing in California, like, legit? Do you really have somewhere to go?”

Bitty sighs. 

“Yeah, it’s legit,” he confesses. “I’ve got a place set up with my friend Chris. I just have to get there, is the problem.”

“Gas money, and all.”

“Yeah. And food, and whatever,” Bitty says with a nod.

“And you’re sure I can’t help you out at all.”

“Well, you could buy me lunch in a bit if you want.”

“There we go.” Kent smiles. “About time you accept some of my generosity.”

“It’s not generosity if it’s nagging,” Bitty grumbles. “It’d be generous if you’d shut up about it.”

“Bitty, I honestly have too much money. You’d be doing me a favor by taking some of it. Fuck, if I wanted to, I could retire right now and hire you on full time.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to.”

“You know what?” Bitty finally snaps. “I think I’m going to take my chances somewhere else.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I happen to have some pride and dignity, and you’re not going to buy it off of me.”

“Bitty, wait --”

“No, Parse. You think just because you offered me a place to stay you get to decide how this goes? I’m getting to California my way, and my doesn’t include being talked down to about my job or being bought out by some pompous ass with too much cash trying to win me over. I told you; I’m fine with what I do. I’m going to keep doing it, and you’re not going to stop me again.”

“Bitty, wait -- Bits! Hang on a second! I was - I was joking! You don’t --!” But Bitty’s already stomped off to the bedroom to retrieve his bag.

Kent rubs a hand down his face and tries to follow him, but by the time he reaches the hallway Bitty’s already making for the front door.

“Bits, please, just wait a second.”

“No thanks. You know, you’re cute, but you should try to make some real friends. Buying them isn’t working so hot for you, see?”

He slams the door shut behind him, words furling as they burn in the air.

Like the first time, Kent just sighs and goes back to bed.

***

“Duchess. I need you.”

“Sounds about right. What is it this time?”

“I need you to find Bitty.”

“Hon, I’ll do what I can, but I’m not going to find him if he doesn’t want to be found. You’re the one who told me he’s good at hiding.”

Kent’s visited the Queen an inordinate amount, even for him, searching for Bitty.

“He said he didn’t have enough money to leave yet. He has to be around here somewhere.”

“Kent, sweetheart. Can I ask you something? What the hell is so special about this kid that you need to find him so badly?”

“I don’t know! I just -- it’s not safe out there for him, you know? He’s so small and he’s really rude sometimes and someone’s going to hurt him over it, I just know it.”

“He seemed like he could handle himself just fine to me.”

“No, he didn’t!” Kent protested. “You saw him in here! He looked terrified!”

“He looked like he was about to have to sleep on the streets, is what he looked like.”

“Yeah, but why would he rather sleep on the streets than somewhere safe? ‘Cause that’s what I offered him.”

“Sweetie, that’s not what you’re offering him. You’re attached already, I can see it. You’re offering him friendship, or whatever it is you want from him, and he’s got goals, as far as I can tell. You tell me he’s trying to get out to California? Of course he doesn’t want to get tied down here.”

This gives Kent pause. He hadn’t even considered Bitty might not want to make a connection with him. Well, he had, but he hadn’t considered there wouldn’t be a way to change his mind. If he was being honest with himself, that is -- which was something Kent wasn’t always familiar with.

“I guess this is why I need you,” Kent admits. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Hey, everyone needs someone in their court. Unfortunately, this isn’t something you can take to your teammates or other friends, so here I am.”

“How did you get so wise?” Kent wonders aloud.

“You get to be my age, it kind of comes with the territory,” Duchess replies soothingly. “You’ll figure it out, honey. You always do.”

“Not before things end the way I don’t want them to,” he mumbles into his drink.

“If this kid -- if this thing with him is meant to work out, it will,” she promises him. “That’s the way it always goes, you know?”

“That doesn’t really make me feel better.”

“If you want to feel better, you’ve come to the wrong place, my friend,” she chuckles.

Kent doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing.

He finishes his drink in solemn silence. “Well,” he says, “I guess I’ll head out, if you don’t have any more wisdom for me.” 

“Afraid not,” Duchess replies smoothly. “But I’ll call you if I hear anything, okay?”

“Okay.” He pulls out his wallet to pay, but she shakes her head.

“It’s on the house tonight, sweetheart.”

“Why won’t anyone take my money?” He grumbles, but he tucks his wallet back into his jeans anyway. He’s learned by now that there’s no point in arguing with Duchess.

If only he’d figured that out with Bitty a little earlier, maybe things wouldn’t have gone so badly askew so fast.

***

The third time they meet, Kent has already resolved that he’s never going to see Bitty again. Two weeks pass with no word from Duchess, and though he passes the other Queen twice a day (once to the gym, once coming home), he sees hide nor hare of the small man of short-shorts-and-tank-tops fame again.

As the days and nights pass, he dreams intimately of rooms he doesn’t remember or recognize, and fleeting images of blond boys he knows but can’t manage to reach.

Rounding on to week three with no news, he’s lying on the couch watching Arrested Development for about the eighth time when he gets a text from Duchess.

Queen Duchess: hey kiddo have some news 4 u. stop by the bar 2nite?  
Me: Ok. What’s going on?

There’s no reply, however. He peels Kit off of his chest and places her gently in her bed by the TV, flicks the device off, and speedwalks to his room to get cleaned up.

The bar is unusually busy when Kent gets there, so he actually has to wait to get up to the counter to greet his friend.

“Duchess! Why didn’t you answer me earlier?”

“Sorry, we got really busy!”

“Yeah, I can see that!”

“Can you go find Rico for me? I’ll make him take over for a few minutes so we can talk!”

Kent rolls his eyes. He doesn’t understand why Duchess even puts up with her hired bartender; whenever it’s busy like this, he spends more time flirting by the pool tables than he ever does actually tending bar.

Luckily, he’s in his regular spot by the cue rack when Kent tracks him down. “Yo, Rico,” he says. “Duchess needs you at the bar.”

“Hey, Parser,” he replies with a bat of his eyelashes. “No hello? How long has it been?”

“No time, you idiot,” Kent snaps back. “Get going, would you? I need to talk to her.”

“Fine, jeez,” he counters with a roll of his eyes. He saunters back toward the bar and Kent heads for the back office, hoping Duchess will be there soon.

Kent’s only been waiting for a few minutes when Duchess finally arrives and closes the door behind her. 

“Goodness, we’re swamped,” she says, fanning herself as she makes her way to a desk chair.

“God, you should just fire that kid,” Kent mutters. “He’s never even working when I’m here.”

“He brings in customers,” she winks, waving a hand in his direction. “Laura’s a better worker, but no one ever looks at her twice.”

“It is a gay bar, after all,” Kent reminds her. “So, okay, what is this news?”

“We’ve found your boy,” she replies, though with less urgency than Kent would expect.

“Okay, and you couldn’t take two seconds to text this to me?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” she admits. “Reggie from the Italian place up the street said he saw some twink in a striped tank top lurking around with some big guys, so he followed them to make sure there was no funny business, but it looks like he’s living out of some beat up old car.”

Kent scrubs his face in anguish. “He’s living in a car,” he repeats.

“By the looks of it.”

“Okay. Where is the car?”

“That’s the problem. Reg says he went looking for it later and it was gone.”

“So you didn’t really find him?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“So what, then?” Kent snaps, growing irritated.

“Calm down! I’m getting to it!” She snaps back. “Lutry said he saw him at the other Queen again, the traitor.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When was he at the other Queen?” Kent stifles a yell. 

“This afternoon,” she replies frostily. “Wearing a goddamn apron. He works there, can you believe it?”

“I can’t believe you couldn’t tell me this earlier!” Kent rises, leaping for the door.

“You’re welcome!” She screeches after him, as he slams the door behind him.

He hails a cab outside the club and tells the driver the address of his gym. He doesn’t know the address for the other Queen, but he does know they’ll pass it on the way.

“Stop!” he practically screams at the driver as they arrive. He throws a wad of cash into the partition window and nearly falls out the door as he scrambles to get to the building.

He runs around the back and, thanking his lucky stars, sees Bitty there, indeed wearing a short apron over his shorts with a waiter’s pad and some pens sticking out.

“Bitty!” he calls. “Don’t leave!”

“Oh, good Lord,” Bitty spits, removing a cigarette from his mouth and dropping it, stamping it out with his foot. “I’ve only got five minutes, are you really going to ruin them for me?”

“Bitty, please,” he says, panting. “I don’t even need five minutes. Just listen, please?”

Bitty says nothing, but stares at Kent intently, so Kent assumes he actually does intend to listen.

“Please,” he breathes, “come to my place after you’re off. I can pay you, I can not pay you, it’s up to you. But I want to apologize. I need to apologize. I really want you to hear me out.”

Bitty shuffles on his feet again, looking toward the kitchen door like he really just wants to escape.

“Uh,” he finally says. “I might. You don’t have to pay me. But I kind of want to hear what you have to say.”

“Great!” Kent yelps. “I, uh, I mean, great,” he corrects his tone to something more civil. “Call a cab if you need to. I’ll see you later, I hope?”

“Yeah,” Bitty says warily. “Maybe.”

It’s the best Kent can hope for.

He hails another cab to take him home, too jittery from nerves to even walk in a straight line.

***

He tries to resume watching Netflix, but he’s too jittery for that too, so he makes a drink and tries to forget that Bitty said “maybe” and pretend that he said “no.”

Halfway through another episode, he hears a knock at the door, and his heart swells and jumps into his mouth. He rises to answer it, and thankfully finds Bitty there.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” Bitty replies.

“Did you take a cab?”

“No. I have a car.”

“Right. Sorry. Dumbass. Not you! Me! I’m the dumbass,” he clarifies.

“Yeah, kind of,” Bitty chirps.

“Come in?” Kent offers.

Bitty does.

“So this apology of yours,” he starts.

“Right. Bitty, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to buy your friendship. I just care that you’re safe, and I want you to get to California safely, and that’s why I’m offering you money. Uh, I mean, why I did. I’m not offering it if you don’t want to take it.”

“Well, you’ll be glad to know I’ve kind of… gone legit, I guess?” Bitty rubs his arm shyly. “I kind of got into a mess a few days ago and realized I was going to keep getting into messes if I didn’t, so.”

“That’s… well, that’s a relief. For me. That you’re safe.”

“Thanks,” Bitty replies. There’s an awkward silence for a moment.

“But God,” he gripes. “The other Queen? Why? Of all the places in Vegas?”

“They were hiring!” Bitty whines defensively. “It’s not like I could show my bruised up face just anywhere and get a job dealing blackjack!”

Kent rubs his face again. “No, I guess not. I mean, you could have gone to Duchess. The bartender she’s got for weekends is a total mess. You could do his job easily.”

“Don’t you need a license?” Bitty asks.

“Not for Duchess,” Kent insists. “She’ll teach you the ropes so fast, and the paperwork gets magically done.”

“I can’t,” Bitty states. “I’m not trying to stick around here.”

“You’ll be stuck for a while if you’re just taking drink orders and waiting tables.”

“Isn’t that what I’d be doing at the real Queen, too?”

“Sure, but I guarantee the tips are better.”

Bitty pauses, as if actually thinking it over.

“I can’t,” he insists after a moment.

“Okay,” Kent says, not pushing the matter for once.

There’s another pause.

“So, um,” Kent starts quietly. “Do you have some place to stay tonight?”

“I’ve been renting a motel room.”

“I bet it’s shitty.”

“It is, really.”

“So would you want to maybe… stay here?”

Bitty thinks for a moment.

“Can I stay in the guest room?”

“You can stay wherever you want. You can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bitty chastises him.

“I’ll make sure you have fresh sheets,” Kent says instead.

***

After a shower, Bitty wanders out to the living room where Kent’s eating takeout and watching Arrested Development, again.

“Aw, you kept watching without me?”

“If you remember what episode we were on, I can back it up,” Kent offers.

“That’s okay,” Bitty says. “Just tell me what’s happening now.”

“Buster’s just been forced to enroll in the army,” Kent states.

“What? Why?”

“Lucille wanted to show the world that the Bluths were patriotic in a not-a-Michael-Moore documentary.”

“Wow. Okay, yeah, maybe we should go back to where I was. I think it was episode four?”

“Episode four, then,” Kent says, picking up the remote. “You want anything to drink?”

“You got anything fruity?”

Kent scoffs. “Of course. Who do you think I am?” He mixes Bitty a cocktail before returning to the couch and pressing play. He polishes off his own whiskey and offers some of the takeout to Bitty, which he accepts gratefully, as if he hasn’t been eating much.

“See? This is nice. Friends is good.”

“Oh, are we friends now?”

“I’d like to be.

...Would you?”

“At least as long as I’m here,” Bitty shrugs. “I guess I can do that.”

They finish their food and drinks in a companionable silence, the hijinks of the Bluth family sounding off in the background.

****

Kent’s sound asleep later that evening, but wakes when he feels something shuffling in the sheets. He expects to see Kit, and is genuinely surprised when a warm (and mostly hairless) body shuffles up against his own.

“Bits?” He asks sleepily.

“Hi. Couldn’t sleep,” he explains. 

“Need to talk?” Kent asks.

“No,” Bitty says, and he starts kissing the back of Kent’s neck.

“Okay,” Kent replies, and he turns so that Bitty can kiss him on the lips.

They lie there kissing for some time, until Bitty starts to intensify it; fierce, he starts biting and tonguing Kent’s teeth and Kent, though sleepy, shivers with lust, every bit ready for it.

But something doesn’t feel quite right. The tension in Bitty’s shoulders, or the way his hands shake as they grip at Kent’s biceps. 

“Bitty,” Kent breathes shallowly. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” he replies, honestly. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Is this okay?”

“No,” Kent says. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Bitty sighs, aggravated. “Look, I won’t even charge you, okay? This is just how I work through things.”

“If we do this now,” Kent begs, “can we talk in the morning?”

“What is it with you and talking?”

“Well, if we’re friends, I want to know what’s bothering you,” Kent whispers, trying to calm the tension. Not that he has anything against heated, tense sex; he’d just rather it be honest, fun sex at the same time.

At least, when it comes to sex with Bitty.

“If you really must know,” Bitty sneers, “my deal with Chris fell through and now I have nothing. So I need you in more ways than one, okay?”

“Oh,” Kent mutters. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,'” Bitty snaps. “So just shut up and kiss me, okay?”

“Bits,” Kent begins again. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about this?” 

“Later,” Bitty responds. “Just give me this now, would you? I don’t like to beg.”

“Okay,” Kent answers calmly. “But we talk in the morning.”

“We talk in the morning,” Bitty promises. He kisses Kent again, and this time, they don’t stop.

 

***

 

“So let me get this straight,” Kent says, rinsing his soapy dishes at the sink. “You went to some college, played hockey well enough for a scholarship, come home over winter break three years in and come out because you’ve got the hots for some guy, and your parents kick you out?”

“More or less,” Bitty replies, anguished.

Kent whistles. “And I thought I had it bad when I came out to my family. I was lucky to be all the way across the country at that point.”

“It was pretty bad,” Bitty admits. “I guess it’s nice to know I’m not alone, though.”

“I’m touched,” Kent intones, wiping his hands on a towel. “So you came out.”

Bitty nods.

“You got kicked out.”

Bitty nods again. 

“You lose your shot at school, your friends, this guy.”

Bitty nods a third time.

“And this guy, Chris - who’s he?”

“Well, he’s from the team. It’s summer now, and he’s at home, and he was going to be able to set me up for a few weeks while I get my shit together. But he emailed me last night that he’s got some cousin flying in from China to visit for the summer before she’s off to Stanford, so my room - and my plan - are gone now.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty half-moans. “I haven’t started thinking yet. Keep up my waiting gig? Keep living in a motel?”

“You could --”

“Don’t,” Bitty protests, putting up a hand. “You’ve already done plenty for me.”

“Bits, listen. It’s a spare room. It’s not going anywhere, and no one ever comes to stay in it, except my mom for Thanksgiving, and she’d love to sleep on the couch if it meant I had other company.”

“I am not staying here til Thanksgiving.”

“You’re staying here as long as you need to, that’s for sure.”

“There’s no point to arguing with you about this, is there?”

“Not unless you magically came up with another teammate who’s willing to board you for a few weeks, no.”

Bitty ponders this as he fiddles with a clean fork.

“Look, I better get to the gym. If you’re not here when I come back, I won’t keep bothering you. But Duchess’s number is on my fridge, and like I said, she could use you. If you want to keep drifting, that’s up to you. But here, you’ve got a place to stay and a better job, if you want it. It’s your choice to trust me or not. I wouldn’t blame you for not trusting anyone, after what happened with the guys here, but not everyone is going to turn you out, you know? I’ve been trying to get you to stay for weeks.”

Bitty says nothing.

“I’ll see you after the gym, I hope.” Kent turns on his heel and locks the door behind himself. Bitty doesn’t follow, so Kent knows he’s chosen to stay put, at least for now.

 

***

 

When Kent comes home from the gym, Bitty’s car is gone.

He knows it’s far too early in the day and far too soon after a workout, but he goes straight to the fridge for a bottle of whiskey, and plants himself directly next to Kit on the couch.

She doesn’t seem to want to cuddle, which is fine, because he doesn’t particularly want to, either.

Minutes, then hours pass as Kent drinks himself stupid, alone in the quiet of his apartment. The sun sets and the light begins to rise around the city, until he hears the sound of an old engine roaring in the driveway.

He gets up and manages to meander to the door of his apartment, opening it just as Bitty starts to knock. He peers up at Kent over the lip of some grocery bags, saying nothing.

“Bits,” Kent finally exhales. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” Bitty affirms.

He bustles unceremoniously past Kent into the apartment, then drops his groceries and keys onto the center island of the kitchen.

Kent opens his mouth to say more when Bitty interrupts, “You reek. Let’s get you to a bath right now.”

He takes a beeline straight to the bathroom, and suddenly Kent hears the roar of running water.

Moments later, Bitty takes him by the arm and guides him into the bathroom. He peels off Kent’s still-smelly workout gear and guides him to the tub, already filled with warm water and soap bubbles (Kent wonders where he found the bubble bath in his apartment, then realizes Bity probably just bought it) and lowers him into the froth. He then strips off his own striped tank and black shorts, and climbs into the tub across from him.

“Wow,” Kent drunkenly grins. “No privacy at all, eh?”

“You’ve seen me naked plenty of times,” Bitty says, waving his hand. “I’m sorry I was gone so long, though. Seems like it gave you the wrong impression.”

“I’m fine,” Kent says, only preventing himself from slurring by speaking in such short sentences.

“Don’t worry,” Bitty sighs affectionately. “I’ll get you cleaned up.”

Stealing the shampoo and soap from their resting places above them, that’s just what Bitty does.

When Kent’s clean enough, Bitty shifts to sit behind him and lays Kent on his chest. Kent hums appreciatively, sinking lower into the warm froth of bubbles. He briefly lowers himself enough to blow a few bubbles of his own into the soapy water.

“One more thing,” Bitty says, slightly awkward, a little off-handedly.

“What’s that?” Kent asks, sitting up to gaze at Bitty over his shoulder.

“My name,” Bitty begins. “It’s… it’s Eric. Bittle. That’s where Bitty comes from.”

Kent pauses for a moment, watching as Bitty flushes all the way down his chest. Bitty’s gaze focuses somewhere on the water, not looking Kent in the eye.

“Hey,” Kent says, turning to face him fully. “Thank you for trusting me. I’ll still call you Bitty, or Bits, okay?”

Bitty looks down, eyes now fixed on Kent’s. “Okay. Thank you, too.”

***

Freshly washed and dried and changed into clean clothes, Kent sobers up with a cup of black coffee as Bitty sets about doing what he spent the afternoon preparing for: baking a pie.

“You would not believe how hard it is to find real maple sugar in Las Vegas,” Bitty says, complaining to Kent as if it’s his fault.

“Oh, I’d believe it,” Kent muses, looking down into the mug of coffee. “It’s a desert in a lot of ways.”

“Why do you stay here?” Bitty complains. “I bet all the teams are begging you to transfer.”

“I don't really want to,” Kent shrugs. “‘Sides, where would I go? I’m just as much at home here as anywhere.”

“I dunno. Rangers? Islanders?” Bitty suggests. “You’re from New York, aren’t you?” 

“Sure, but I didn’t have the best childhood,” Kent replies. “Hate to be reminded of it every day if I went home.”

Bitty hums at that. “I can relate, I guess.”

“So Vegas it is,” Kent shrugs, still feeling the cottony fluff of tipsiness tickling lightly at the edges of his senses. “For you and me both.”

“For you and me both,” Bitty repeats, finally putting the pie in the oven. “So what now?”

“Drinks to celebrate?” Kent suggests, and Bitty rolls his eyes, but he does move to the liquor cabinet to fetch the margarita mix and catch up to Kent’s current tipsiness.

They’ll eat the pie with a more appropriate liquor later.

***

After they’re giggly from drinking, the two decide to officially celebrate Bitty’s final acceptance of Kent’s proposal to move in with some dancing. They shuffle through Kent’s music collection, searching for the perfect song to set the mood.

“Oh, I’ve got it,” Kent says, and he queues up a song he deems “perfect,” one that will make Bitty “his” for the “rest of time.” Secretly, that is; he’d never say it to Bitty out loud, obviously. He extends his hand for Bitty to take, gently lifting him up off of the floor. He then pulls Bitty close, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s waist, Bitty lifting his own arms up around Kent’s shoulders.

 _“Say you love me,”_ the lyrics begin, _“to my face…”_

They let the music play for a moment, Kent holding Bitty and swaying. “This is… unexpected,” Bitty mumbles.

_“Heart’s getting torn… from your mistakes.”_

And then Bitty makes a face.

“This is your idea of sex music?”

“Well, not exactly. We’re not fucking yet, obviously.”

“But you’re trying to seduce me.” Bitty looks at him plaintively, as if expecting Kent to protest.

“I happen to think this is very sexy,” he responds, leaning in closer. “All slow and heavy…” - Bitty squirms ever so slightly from the heat of Kent’s breath on his ear - “...while the lyrics are so urgent… makes you wanna take it easy and feel that rush all at once, you know?” He nuzzles up to the strip of skin under Bitty’s ear, barely ghosting his lips against his neck.  
“Oh. And. Also,” he continues, voice slightly less seductive and a little more, well, chirpy, “yes. I am trying to seduce you. Is it working?”

“No,” Bitty teases, practically giggling, worming out from under Kent’s bent over figure. But, Kent notes, he doesn’t break the embrace. “You just sound pretentious. And this isn’t sexy! It’s just… sad. Mournful, even.”

“Well,” Kent starts, ignoring the chirp and straightening back up to full height. “This situation is a little tragic, isn’t it?”

Bitty snorts quietly, gaze fixed somewhere around Kent’s chest. “How so?”

“You’re never going to stay here for long, right? We might never see each other again after you leave - I’m already lucky I found you that third time.” Bitty lets his eyes wander up to Kent’s reddening face. 

“You’re wasted, Kent Parson,” he says, and then he plants a kiss on Kent’s lips as if he were starving to do so all night.

Kent returns the kiss in earnest, letting all his emotion flow through it - he wants Bitty to feel safe, loved even, now that he’s decided to stay. He wants to give him a reason to stay. If he’s being honest, Kent wants to give himself to Bitty - every last piece of himself, to prove he can be trusted more, to prove Bitty was right to trust him in the first place.

_“Want to feel good near flames when you say my name --”_

And he doesn’t know if Bitty feels it, but when they part, Bitty lets out a small “oh,” and a soft look of understanding passes across his features. He pauses for just a moment, examining Kent’s face before landing on his eyes, a smoldering mixture of bluish green.

_“‘Cause I don’t want to fall in love  
“If you don’t want to try --”_

And Bitty’s lips find Kent’s again, this time returning the warm passion and intensity.

Kent presses against Bitty until the two find the couch and land with a thud, falling backwards onto the cushions. Kent hovers above Bitty, holding his jaw with both hands, kissing every taut expanse of skin he can reach. He sinks to his knees on the floor and raises Bitty’s shirt with his hands, kissing his stomach and chest in turn. He mouths down toward the bulge in Bitty’s shorts, moving to undo the button, when Bitty’s hands find his.

“No, no, stop,” Bitty says, and Kent immediately sits back on his heels, worried he’s done something wrong.

“Is everything okay?” Kent whispers, worried he was overtaken by the moment.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Bitty blurts, moving to place a hand on Kent’s cheek. “Just. Not this, right now. I want… God, Kent. I want you to fuck me good and proper. Right here.” He brushes his fingers through the hair at the nape of Kent’s neck.

It takes a lot to make Kent blush, but Bitty’s got him red as a tomato.

“Yeah,” he splutters. “Yeah, Bits. Anything you want.” He surges up to kiss him again, Bitty’s legs wrapping around Kent’s torso and hips thrusting together for a moment. “Just--” he tries to separate from Bitty, but Bitty won’t let go “--just - ah - just give me a minute,” Kent says, finally peeling Bitty away from his body.

He leaps over the couch and slides on the floor, crashing onto the wood, fumbling in his haste to get back to the bedroom for the condoms and lube. He also grabs a pair of towels from the bathroom for good measure, and rushes back in to find Bitty lying naked, spread out for him across the cushions, languid and lush and waiting.

“Fuck, Bits,” Kent says, actually having to hide his face this time. “You must have been driving those college boys crazy.”

“I did well enough for myself,” Bitty says, sitting up and stretching, his taut stomach muscles stretching prettily beneath his creamy skin. “Get over here, would you? You have far too many clothes on.”

Kent returns to his kneeling position before Bitty, and Bitty kisses his forehead before slowly removing Kent’s sweatshirt and then the shirt underneath. Then Kent stands, and Bitty continues, spreading his hands out across Kent’s muscular torso, feeling every ripple of muscle and bone protruding. He places a kiss against the crest of Kent’s hip, before popping the button on his jeans. Kent’s already achingly hard, and Bitty runs his hand along the his length reverently, as though he wants to savor it now. 

“C’mon,” Kent chides. “What happened to ‘right here, right now?’” 

“Maybe I changed my mind. Maybe now I want to take my time,” Bitty says, but he digs his fingers beneath the waistband of Kent’s boxers and pulls, removing both his boxers and jeans so his erection falls free from the restraint. 

Kent takes a breath in through his teeth when Bitty licks a stripe from the end to the tip, the saliva cooling the skin, then takes Kent into his mouth. He sucks long and heavy, letting Kent weigh on his tongue before swallowing him down into his throat. Kent thinks he’s about to black out then and there, before Bitty backs away and rubs a trail of spit away from his lower lip.

“Okay,” Bitty says. “I just wanted to do that once before we started.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kent swears. “Jesus fucking Christ, Bits.”

Bitty simply grins and grabs Kent by the hips, navigating him back down towards his own body and between his legs.

“You want to get me going, or do you want to watch?”

“Just want you,” Kent gasps. “Wanna touch you so bad, Bitty.” He rakes his fingernails down Bitty’s front, and Bitty gasps at the searing sensation they leave in their wake.

He places his hands where Bitty’s legs meet his hips and leans back to take in the sight. Bitty’s hard against his hip, and his chest rising and falling with his quick breathing.

“Like what you see?” Bitty says.

“You have no idea,” Kent responds breathily.

Bitty scoffs but laughs, giggling until Kent easily pushes one finger into Bitty’s hole.

He then gasps and arches his back against the couch, already slick with sweat and aching with need. 

“How’s that?” Kent asks, already fucking his finger in and out while Bitty squirms prettily beneath him.

“Ah-- A-amazing,” Bitty stutters, clenching his fingers on Kent’s shoulders.

He whines as Kent starts to work in a second finger, adding more lube as he goes to be sure that, despite the speed, he’s at least going in well prepared.

“It’s okay,” Bitty confirms Kent’s wordless worries. “I’m okay to go. I like it when it hurts a little.” 

Kent nods abashedly, but still waits a few strokes more before adding a third finger. Bitty winces, but moans in such pleasure that Kent can’t find it in him to slow to a stop. He continues opening Bitty up, astonished by his heat and so, so ready for him, so ready for the intimacy that comes with their connections in the dark.

Anyone with eyes could have told him, but Kent wasn’t exactly familiar with being totally beholden to his feelings. Anyone could see he had already fallen for the mysterious boy from the Deep South, bruised and burnished but not broken, not even close to injured, at least beyond the surface. But it was at that moment that Kent himself breathed in, realizing for the first time that he had fallen recklessly in love with this boy, and that he was completely fucked if he ever had to let him go.

Bitty growled and tightened his grip on Kent’s shoulders as he pushes inside, slowly, precariously, until he was buried to the hilt. Kent pants, suddenly overcome with a rush of emotion and fully unprepared for the hit. Rather than ignore his feelings, he choses to put every last one of them into the way he held Bitty as he began to move, caressing his face and neck as he began to rock forward and back between Bitty’s legs.

“Bits,” he said, full of awe. “Bits, you’re amazing. You’re so beautiful, so perfect for me.”

“Kent,” Bitty gasped in response. “God, Kent, just-- just keep going, keep touching me, I need it.”

Kent did as he was told and ran his hands down Bitty’s torso, moving to mouth at his neck and collarbones as he balances himself against Bitty’s hips. His thrusts continue, steady for now, and he cranes his neck to moan sweet nothings into the tender skin under Bitty’s ear.

“Bits, this is -- you’re -- you’re everything I want right now. This is everything I want right now,” he mumbled, then moves to kiss Bitty on the mouth. Bitty just moans in response, all his feeling rushing into Kent as he moves and buckles beneath him. Finally, Kent moves one of his hands to feel Bitty’s solid cock, touching gently at the sensitive spot beneath the head, and Bitty’s gasps rip through him as he’s overcome with the pressure of pleasure building at his core.

Kent then grabs him full on and starts to pump, and Bitty’s squirms become bucks as he thrusts himself back onto Kent’s movements. Kent, meanwhile, feels the bubbling turmoil of all his emotions boiling to the surface, combined with the heat and tightness of Bitty’s body writhing beneath him, and he topples past the precipice with an unbridled gasp.

Bitty isn’t far behind, scalding inside under all Kent’s attention, and his own wail bounces off the walls of the room as he comes all over Kent’s hand and his own stomach. Kent thrusts shallowly as the two finish off, and Bitty chokes on his last gasps as he comes down from his high.

Kent collapses unceremoniously on top of Bitty, and the two lie together, clinging to one another, for a solid minute before either has the energy to move. It’s Bitty who first suggests, “Hey, maybe… maybe we should get cleaned up,” before Kent agrees and the two wobble their way to the shower. Kent grabs his shampoo and lathers up Bitty’s honey golden hair, giggling at making spikes and mohawks with the suds as Bitty rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh. Kent makes quick work of his own washing, and grabs two more towels from the rack, tossing one to Bitty, when they finish. 

Naked and exhausted, they collapse onto Kent’s bed, neither moving to turn down the covers or reach for the pillows.

“That was--” Bitty starts.

“--Something else,” Kent finishes for him.

They just stare at one another for a moment, trying to come to grips with their celebration and what, if anything, it might mean for them.

 

“Hey,” Kent finally says. “C’mere.”

Bitty scoots closer on top of the duvet, the pillowy softness giving way beneath the weight of his body. Kent wraps his arms around him, pulling him close.

“Please tell me you’ll be here tomorrow.”

Bitty gulps.

Kent’s about to take it as a bad sign, until Bitty whispers, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

He wraps his arms around Kent’s waist and holds tight, and the two drift off to sleep in one another’s arms.

***

Kent glances one last time at the packed bags resting at the door, taking in a deep breath to rein in any emotions that threaten to leak onto his face.

“It’s going to be fine,” Bitty encourages him. “I’ll be okay without you for just a little while.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Kent says, turning to face him.

“Oh, you big baby,” Bitty mutters as he comes forth to gather Kent into his arms.

“I’m not a baby,” Kent protests. “I am actually very cool and have zero emotions, you know.”

“Oh, hush,” Bitty coos. “Your emotionalism is part of why I like you so much.”

Kent quiets down at this, not sure what else to say.

“Plus, if you kick ass on this tour, you know you’ll be coming home to the best sex of your life. On the bright side,” Bitty suggests playfully, punching Kent lightly in the ribs.

“Hah,” Kent half-laughs. “I guess I should get going, then, huh?”

He’s about to head to the arena to board a bus to the airport, where he’ll be off to a round of games in the East. Boston, Providence, New York.

“That’s right,” Bitty says. “And don’t worry about Kit. She finally kind of likes me, I think.”

“I’m never worried about Kit,” Kent jokes. “She could run the entire country. She’s smart enough.”

“She was smart enough to pick you,” Bitty says affectionately, smoothing out the lapels of Kent’s suit.

“So were you,” Kent says. “Which I’m still amazed by, every day.”

“Okay, jeez, that’s enough,” Bitty replies with a light slap. “Time to get going. Everything will be fine here. Just play your best, and we’ll be here to celebrate with you when you get home.”

“Okay,” Kent says. “I promise. I’ll text you when I land?”

“You better,” Bitty says with a smile.

Kent plants a small kiss on Bitty’s forehead before he turns to pick up his luggage.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he jokes again as he heads out the door.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bitty responds as Kit wanders out of hiding in time to see Kent off.

It’s the best farewell Kent’s had in a long, long time.


End file.
